


Argo Navis

by Lex_Munro



Series: Stories From the Fateverse [28]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe(s), Crossover, M/M, Science Fiction, dimension-hopping shenanigans, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10093280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lex_Munro/pseuds/Lex_Munro
Summary: Voyagers plot the long course by the stars in the sky.  Sometimes the universes get tired of waiting, and put constellations in much more obvious places.





	1. Follow

**Author's Note:**

> three little snippets, all written at separate times and slightly out-of-order, but they go together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Founder knows four words that will make Jack Harkness follow him anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick fic about the four words the Founder knows that will make Jack Harkness follow him anywhere (mentioned in [Misplaced](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6819154/chapters/15566941)).
> 
> notes: 1) there are probably five or six Jack Harkness subjects working for the Network, mostly as Warders or Field Agents.  2) Vinvocci are the cactus-looking aliens from DW: End of Time.

**Follow**

  


Network Field Agent 211 has been doing this job for a while.  Almost two thousand years, subjective time (back at the Core, it’s only been half that).

He’s good with looking into abnormalities, and with rules, and with knowing when rules are shit and should be broken.  He passed Warder certification, so he doesn’t speak with only the provisional authority of an Agent when he apprehends various fugitives.

Even before signing up with the Fidelis Network, he’d been with Torchwood for a few centuries (well, a few millennia, thanks to a minor time loop), and he’d been with the Time Agency for a few years.

So this isn’t his first rodeo.

He knows alien, and he knows weird, and he knows time travel.

Right now, he’s writing a Vinvocci a ticket for trying to sell contraband from a different timeline…little geisha bobble-heads, to be precise.

“Agent Harkness?” someone says.

Jack turns.  He doesn’t know the barefoot ginger.  “Can I help you, sir?”

“Doctor,” the ginger corrects, and Jack’s heart skips a beat.  “ _The_ Doctor.  Not _your_ Doctor, of course.  Different universe.  You’re gonna have to come with me; Network business.”

“We don’t have Doctors at the Network,” Jack says firmly.  “You guys have a real problem with obeying the law.”

“That’s true.  Both of those things.  But if you want to be technical, I’m not actually a Network Employee.”

Jack looks skeptically at the man.  “So you’re not with the Network, and you’re not _my_ Doctor—Network business or not, what makes you think I’ll go _anywhere_ with you?”

The strange Doctor stares with snowdrift eyes, pale and sparkling and serene.  “I need you, Jack,” he says.

And, “Shit,” Jack sighs, because those four words would make him follow any Doctor to hell and back.  “All right, let’s go.  Where are your shoes?”

“I can’t think with them on.”

“Right.  Forget I asked.”  He looks at the Vinvocci and hands him the ticket.  “That’s been logged automatically with the Network; if you repeat the offense or fail to pay your fine, a Keeper _will_ come after you.”

  


**.End.**


	2. Rescue-Napped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent 211 is asked to go out of his way to 'retrieve' someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand, here’s where i started writing s*** out of order again...
> 
> the Savant sends somebody else to go catch a Doctor in the wild.
> 
> warnings: Fateverse (dimension-hoppy sci-fi), non-canon alternate/future Doctor(s). language: pg (primetime tv).
> 
> pairing: a little Doctor(s)/Jack Harkness.
> 
> timeline: probably a month or more after [Consult](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9979655)? i honestly haven’t decided just yet.
> 
> disclaimer: marvel and the BBC own all recognizable characters.
> 
> notes: 1) we first met Agent 211 in a teeny little snippet called Follow in which we saw four words the Doctor could say to get Jack to follow him anywhere. 2) "There’s no such thing as the Doctor. I’m just a bloke in a box, telling stories.” 3) non-Keeper field agents get around with Timeslide Modules (better ones than Cable has, of course, and much more reliable). 4) "Infinite lifespan, finite memory--it makes for an awkward social life.” 5) the constellation Vela (the Sail) is one of three parts to a larger constellation: Argo Navis (the Ship Argo). fun fact: Argo Navis is the only Ptolemeic constellation no longer officially considered a constellation. Carina (the Hull) is the part of the Argo that’s easiest to find, since it contains the star Canopus (Alpha Carinae), the second brightest star in the night sky. the Carina Nebula is pinkish in appearance to the naked eye, and marks the prow of the Argo, so that if you consider the prow to be ‘left’ and Canopus to be ‘right,’ then Vela is a somewhat chevron-shaped set of stars ‘above’ them. 6) those of you who steal my thoughts can probably guess who my brain has playing this Doctor, but i don’t think it’s actaully all that relevant to the plot. after all, there are plenty of freckled folk out there (with and without ginger hair, and some who only have ginger hair when they’ve been in the sun for a few months, and some who get their ginger out of a box).

**Rescue-napped**

   


Network Field Agent 211 hates Priority Orders.

_Oh, you’re doing something important?  Too bad!  Drop everything and do this instead._   


Inconvenient.  


A little shady, too; Priority Orders only have to be ratified by three members of the Netcon, and they don’t have to be ratified before they get sent out (there’s a grace period of three days). System Administrator Priority Orders don’t have to be ratified at all.  


He has received a total of seven Priority Orders in his very long career, and has lodged a formal complaint each time.  He can’t stand idiotic interruptions to his work.  


Trips with the Founder don’t count—he cheats (all Sigma Doctors do, Jack suspects).  He’s full of beautiful, awful four-word phrases that undo Jack utterly (he brags about it, always saying he knows four words that will make Jack follow him anywhere, always saying something different).  


_I need you, Jack.  We’ll be late, Jack.  You can come along.  Did you miss me?  I shan’t be long.  Are you sleeping enough?  Not long now, Jack.  Pretend I’m a dream.  How’ve you been, Jack?  I’ve missed you, Jack.  You oughtn’t love me.  See—I’m dreadfully unhealthful._   


He doesn’t count.  


Exception to the rule.  To _every_ rule.  Especially because he refuses to be one.  


Agent 211 can admit to himself that he forms infatuations a bit too easily.  He usually avoids Doctors for exactly that reason.  


Blokes in boxes, telling stories. He’s always been a sucker for a good story.  


Today’s Priority Order comes from a Senior Theorist, one of his least favorite people.  


(In a general sense, he understands the necessity for what the Savant does, and certainly respects the man’s knowledge and expertise, but he’s a ruthless, miserable, murdering bastard, and a complete asshole.)  


_Senior Theorist 042 priority order.  Slide coordinates sent to Slide Module 103\.  Proceed to semi-hostile environment to retrieve Subject Designate Doctor XB3110-Omicron.  Non-lethal force authorized against intervening subjects.  Force not authorized against target._   


He’s not entirely sure he understands his orders.  Retrieval. Not apprehension, not detention. Not allowed to use force against the Doctor, but allowed to injure people trying to stop him from taking the Doctor.  


He tries to remember what an Omicron Doctor is.  Pacifist? No, that’s Eta…  Extra regenerations?  No, they don’t have a specific suffix for that, too much overlap… A Doctor with female regenerations? No, that’s Zeta…  


He should remember it.  It’s important.  Omicron’s important, he just doesn’t remember why.  


Damn, he’s getting old. Infinite lifespan, finite memory. Maybe he should start writing things down?  


He hits the button on his Slide Module (so much nicer than a Vortex Manipulator; he can dart in and out of universes like a needle through silk).  


He lands in a firefight, laser blasts and particle beams everywhere, sparks flying.  


Nothing too fancy, it seems—his personal shield stops all of it.  


Aha.  There in the corner, under some fallen furniture, a man in a torn coat is scrambling to find something.  


Only the Doctor would lose something important while being shot at.  


“There it is!” the Doctor says triumphantly from beneath the skewed frame of some kind of sofa.  


With a long-suffering sigh, Jack walks over, grabs the man by the ankles, and slides him out from under the furniture.  


“I’ve got a screwdriver and I’m not afraid to use it!” yelps the Doctor, face hidden in one elbow while he waves said screwdriver blindly.  


“You could put somebody’s eye out like that, y’know,” Jack says.  


The Doctor peeks out from behind his arm, still prone on the floor amid dust and bits of rubbish and chunks of broken ceiling plaster.  


Only practice (a lot of practice, with a few different faces on a lot of different Doctors) keeps him from flinching.  


Omicron iterations are the sugary ginger ones with the big Bambi eyes and the stupid disarming freckles.  


He could kick himself for forgetting that, he really could.  


Long ago, before he joined the Network, Jack was married to one of those pretty gingers with the sparkling green eyes and constellations on his face.  


Sometimes resonant iterations are only very similar.  Sometimes little things will be different, like the edge of a fingerprint, or a fleck in one iris, or a scar shifted two millimeters left.  Sometimes they’re exactly identical, at least physically.  


Jack’s husband had Vela on his right cheekbone, and Jack had loved to trace it gently in their quiet, sleepy moments, or kiss exactly in the middle of it.  


And there it is, the Argo, picked out in copper specks on pale skin.  


“Oh,” says the Doctor.  “Jack. This isn’t what it looks like—I’ve got everything quite under control, I assure y—”  


Jack just hoists the Time Lord up over his shoulder like a sack of meal and prods his Slide Module to program the next timeslide.  “Time to go, Doctor,” he says.  


“Oi, put me down!  I’m not a bloody damsel!  Jack Harkness, how dare you?  Unhand me this very instant!  I’ll have you know I had no need to be rescued whatsoev—”  


They arrive in the Nullres Detention Facility, and Jack sets the man back on his feet.  


They’re of a height (of course they are), and he can see the copper swirls hidden in green eyes like secret continuations of the patterns made by all those freckles.  


How young he looks!  


And how young he makes Jack feel, bringing up all those millennia-old memories.  


“I’m,” the Doctor mumbles, but seems to lose his train of thought.  


“I was ordered to retrieve you,” Jack tells him.  “You’ll be returned to your timeline unharmed when they’re done.”  


“Is this a kidnapping?  You’ve kidnapped me!  Jack, I’m appalled and slightly impressed.  But all the same, I think I’ll politely decline.  You see, the Pinks will be expec—”  


“You sure?  They’ve got any flavor of jelly baby you could want. Hey—I bet I know four words that’ll make you stay.”  


The Doctor tries to look affronted, but he ends up looking flustered instead, blushing and fidgeting and unable to meet Jack’s eyes again.  “I don’t see that jelly babies could possibly—”  


He kisses that little space in the middle of the Argo’s sail and says, “I’ll be right back.”  


Jack hits the return button on his Slide Module and gets back to work.  


A little underhanded, perhaps. A little cruel.  


That face, those eyes…  


That Doctor will wait right there for Jack to come back, no matter how long it takes.  


Well, turnabout’s fair play, after all.  


   


**.End.**


	3. Jiggety-Jig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And when it's time to find home, we know the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shamelessly writing out-of-order*
> 
> warnings: Fateverse, alternate universe(s), alternate/future Doctor, language: pg (primetime tv).
> 
> timeline: some time after **Rescue-napped**.
> 
> notes: 1) home again, home again, jiggety-jig. 2) again, Agent 211, grumpy-space-cop!Jack. 3) Cybermats are little cyberman rat-things that steal electricity to supply their ships for gradual repair after catastrophic damage (like in episode 612: Closing Time). 4) i feel like Klingons would like Wookiees. a Wookiee could probably make good money arm-wrestling Klingons for fun. 5) Agent 211 is one of those grumpy people who doesn’t like admitting that he’s a grump, and feels all awkward when he makes children and cinnamon rolls cry. 6) this Doctor only travels with married couples; highlights include Martha & Mickey, Gwen & Rhys, Amy & Rory, and Clara & Danny. 7) “Which are you, Doctor? Coward or killer?” “Coward, any day.”

**Jiggety-Jig**

 

When yet another Priority Order comes through, Agent 211 wants to scream.

In fact, he yells, “Go away!” at the top of his lungs, and the drunk Klingon he’s just arrested looks at him askance.  “Not you—you’re going to spend some time sobering up, and then you’re going to tell me where you got those Cybermats you were selling as pets.”

“Guard beasts!” protests the Klingon.  “Vicious, territorial, dignified.  Unable to convert, you soft-skinned coward; quite controllable with their ship in another dimension.”

“And what if a ship managed to get through using whatever way the Cybermats did?  You were selling them to a Wookiee.  I don’t even want to contemplate a Cyber-Wookiee.”

“You humans have no sense of fun!”

But when the Klingon’s been tossed into the Drunk Tank to sleep it off with the rest of the evening’s disorderly citizens, he pulls up the Priority Order on his portable.

_Senior Theorist 042 priority order.  Return to Network Facility 6112 to escort Subject Designate Doctor XB3110-Omicron back to home bundle.  Subject’s safety is paramount; exercise judgment in selecting timeslide destination from authorized options._

Great.  Time to take Bambi home.

Another message tacks itself onto the end of the Priority Order.

_Every scratch on the ginger will come out of your hide, Harkness._

“Self-righteous prick,” he mutters as he keys the Slide.

It takes him back to that same secure chamber at the Nullres Facility.

Said ginger is fidgeting his hands and chewing his lips.  “Jack!” he says, and his whole face lights up.  “I’m sorry, they took me somewhere—I don’t really understand everything that happened, but there was a lot of science, and two other versions of me, and apparently it’s possible to travel telepathically between dimensions—but you said you’d be right back, so when they let me go, I came and I waited for you.  I waited.  I didn’t run.”

Jack feels the first faint prickle of guilt climbing up the back of his neck, but he’s still annoyed with the Savant, the Priority Order, Doctors, and life in general.  “That’s right,” he says brusquely.  “You did good, Doc.  Let’s get you back to your own timeline, now.”

“Oh—th-there’s no rush.  If you’re busy—if there’s something more important—I—maybe I could help?”

“The last thing I need is yet another Doctor meddling in my life!”

And he should have remembered.

He really should have.

Omicrons don’t get snippy about the accusations.  They don’t get angry.  They don’t get defensive.  They don’t stare at their shoes and try to make a joke. 

They just _look_.  They look, with those sparkling green eyes (all picturesque and poetic and ‘limpid pools’ and whatnot), and they cry.

Jack starts to feel wretched.

Any moment now, the icing on the cake…

“You’re right; I’m sorry.”

He heaves a sigh.  “Oh, for—don’t cry.  Come on.  I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’ve just…had a very trying day.  Week, really.  Okay, a very trying month, but I’m usually not so…well, maybe I am.  Look, don’t you want to go home?  Don’t you have somebody waiting for you?”

The Doctor flinches and finally looks away.  “That’s the point of picking marrieds,” he says softly.  “They don’t miss me so much when I’m away, so they don’t resent it.”

“You don’t have anybody special you want to see?  Rose?  River?”  He flounders a bit.  “Mickey?”

“Mickey is half of the Smith-Joneses.  I told you:  marrieds.”

“Nobody just for you?” Jack asks, and wishes he could take back the impulsive words.

“I have done awful things for the sake of friends and family,” the Doctor says, appalled.  “Can you imagine what sort of atrocities I might commit if I allowed something so selfish as romance?  Another upshot to marrieds.”

Jack’s breath catches.  “What happened?  Something happened to your Jack.  And you did something you refuse to forgive yourself for.  You think you owe me something—why?”

And the Doctor looks again.  Just looks and cries for a long while.  “We were on Satellite Five.  The Daleks were coming back.  We split up—just for a little while, just so you could shut down the power and I could try to lure the Daleks back into their prison.  We were supposed to meet up again after.  You said you’d be right back.  But I hit my head, and I woke up surrounded, and you were dead.  I…I wanted revenge, so I set the self-destruct with all of them trapped on the station.  And the worst thing is that I didn’t even stay to make sure they were all gone; I just ran.  I _ran_.  Because I’m a coward.”

“What about Rose?  What about Bad Wolf?”

The Doctor blinks and shakes his head.  “I don’t know who that is.”

Jack gapes.  “What—but—have you maybe noticed anything odd about me?  Anything…uncomfortable?”

“No.  Your timeline’s a bit stiff…is that to do with the way your interdimensional travel works?”

“How can you not—look harder.  I’m packed full of so many time particles I might as well be a damn TARDIS.”

“Regenerating Time Lord?”

“No, you—never mind.  The point is that I don’t stay dead.  I can die—and I do it with very unfortunate frequency—but my body just rebuilds itself.”

“Oh, but that’s brilliant!” the Doctor gasps, and suddenly his hands are tangled in Jack’s sleeves.

“I’m a walking, talking fixed point!  Doesn’t that hurt your Time Sense?  Like looking at a sun, or standing inside a ringing church bell, or—”

“Jack, I haven’t been able to properly sense the flow of Time since the Cybermen tried to convert me at Canary Wharf.  Maybe if I’d had someone along back then…but it was a while yet before I met the Smith-Joneses, and the Williamses were out of the way.  I’ve got an extra setting on the sonic for it—a seeing-eye screwdriver.  I’m almost completely Time-deaf.  Time-blind?  I’m mixing metaphors again, aren’t I?  We should work out some standardised terminology for it, I think.”

With an exultant laugh, Jack hoists the Time Lord up into the air and spins him once.

“What?  What is it, Jack?  What did I say?”

“Do you believe in second chances?” Jack asks as he puts the Doctor back down (but keeps his hands at the wonderful idiot’s waist).

“Maybe.  I hope so.  Yes?”

“Good.  I don’t mind that you’re a coward—I’d rather have a coward than a killer, any day.”

The Doctor smiles at him, blindingly beautiful.  “Let’s run then, you ‘n me,” he whispers.  “Fast as ever we can.”

 

**.End.**


End file.
